


You'll make me go mad

by plumadesatada



Series: Like Absinthe [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumadesatada/pseuds/plumadesatada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lukas Frode is just a <i>regular</i> guy—no, really—trying to make a living. He owns a bar—well, the mafia owns it, they just lend it to him—and his life is pretty normal, for certain values of normal.</p><p>Until Tony Stark comes into his bar, looking for a good drink and a good fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll make me go mad

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of four days of filthy, filthy roleplay over Omegle with [ Jessica](http://anata-no-warumono.tumblr.com), who is an amazing Tony, and two days of editing on my part. It somehow grew from 9k to 12k in those two days. Yeah, baffles me too.
> 
> Oh, yeah: all mentions of the Colombo family are entirely ficticious. (So please don't hunt me down and kill me, torture or otherwise maim me.)

New York was always fucking cold in winter, and this one was no exception.

Tony shivered and rubbed his arms, for all the good that did. He cursed himself for ever having thought that going out for a refreshing walk was a good idea.

But then, what else could he have done? That stupid new project was driving him crazy. Building one Iron Man suit at a time was one thing, but designing actual bionic prosthesis apt for mass production? Pepper was going to be the death of him. Add to that his newfound inability to sleep without waking up shaking from a nightmare, and yeah, it was no wonder his mood was in the dumps.

The sub-zero temperatures? _Not helping._

What he needed was a drink.

Tony breathed into his hands, warming his numb fingers, before stuffing them in his pockets. He’d walked back around, so that he was at the entrance to Stark Tower right now, but he didn’t feel like going up and drinking alone. No, he wanted company. He wanted to bury himself between a pair of willing thighs.

…If his cock hadn’t retreated permanently into his body to escape the cold.

A drink and a fuck, yes. _That_ would lift his spirits.

Already perking up at the prospect, he stepped inside and took the lift down to the garage, where he picked his most unassuming car.

There was no need to bother his driver-cum-bodyguard for this, he decided, so long as he went to a nice place and kept his head low. That left out sleazy dive bars. Not like those were fun anyway, not if Rhodey wasn’t with him, cheerleading as Tony wiped the floor with some random moron at pool. Pity, girls at sleazy dive bars always knew how to have fun. Some nice, trendy, expensive place then; one that looked classy enough for a billionaire genius playboy philanthropist like himself.

Tony tapped the wheel, thinking of places, and then remembered: why do that much effort, when he had JARVIS? “Hey, J,” he said, leaning back into the seat. “Compile me a list of trendy hotspots. And make sure the drinks are actually good this time.”

“You did not request quality last time, Sir,” JARVIS reminded him, acknowledging the order.

Tony rolled his eyes. “How long have you known me, Jarv? I thought you’d just know. I was wounded; _wounded,_ I tell you.”

JARVIS didn’t dignify that with an answer. “List complete. Shall I display it on your phone?”

Tony grinned. JARVIS was the best, even with his sass. “You do that, babe.”

The list wasn’t extensive. JARVIS had made sure that all the suggestions were close to Stark Tower, probably as incentive for Tony to leave the car there and take a taxi instead if he drank too much. As if Tony had _ever_ listened to his subtle rebukes about his daredevil lifestyle. No, he’d rather trust his life to his drunk driving than any NY cabbie.

Trusting JARVIS had done a good job, Tony used the eenie-meenie-miney-moe method to select a winner. His finger landed on a place called Ice and Fire, a relatively new place in town. Oh, yeah, he seemed to recall hearing about the place from some chicks at the last charity gala Pepper had forced him to go to, maybe. Sounded nice.

Starting the car, he drove out of the garage. The streets were nice and nearly empty, which made for a pleasant ride.

Upon arrival, he was startled to discover the place was on the ground floor. The really good places were all up high in skyscrapers, in his experience. There was also no valet parking, as he found out after waiting for someone to come greet him. _That_ was suspicious. Maybe JARVIS was trolling?

He was starting to reconsider. Well, he could always leave if he didn’t like the place. But it looked nice, from what little he could see from outside. Ritzy, yet cozy. He decided to give the place the benefit of the doubt before scolding JARVIS right away, and parked his car in a parking garage conveniently less than a block away. Thanking every deity he didn’t believe in for having brought his scarf and his heaviest overcoat with him, he walked the distance and went into the double doors.

The contrasts of temperatures was _amazing_ , and he saw that everyone inside was wearing a light jacket or long-sleeved shirt at most.

Tony was still a bit cold from his jaunt outside, so he decided to keep the scarf for the moment. Taking the coat off and folding it over his arm, he made a beeline for the bar. While he waited for the bartender to notice him, he took a look around.

The place was actually really classy-looking, all sleek furniture and dark-wood walls. The lighting fixtures were modern, and the intensity was just enough, neither blinding nor too dark to read the list of drinks. The wall behind the bar was lined with bottles of every size and color imaginable, and the mirror behind them made it look like there were twice as many. And the people! All of them well-dressed and put together. Men in suits and pressed shirts with the top button undone, girls in pretty dresses, tasteful makeup, and artfully arranged hair.

Huh. Maybe he should trust JARVIS more often. Clearly, he’d done a marvelous job programming him.

Smiling privately, Tony turned around to look for the bartender.

He was a tall, slim fellow with fiery-red hair and ill-fitting clothes.

And he seemed to be free, so Tony signaled him over and ordered a glass of scotch, before forgetting about him entirely and examining the patrons for prey.

The top picks, off the top of his head, seemed to be a curvy blonde in a red dress and her black friend, who was wearing rather daring turquoise skinny jeans. Both were pretty, but the blonde looked easier to lure into a one-night-stand. He pondered how to get her alone, regretting not having called Rhodey over to be his wingman.

* * *

 

Lukas Frode — also known as Lucky Luke, depending on what circles the person speaking about him frequented — was the name of the barkeeper.

It was also the name on Ice and Fire’s property title.

The establishment had been lent to him by Joel Cacace in payment for "engineering" and carrying out a "transaction" for the Colombo family. Luke had needed the bar to arrange it, and he'd done such a great job that consigliere Cacace had graciously allowed him to keep it and call it his in exchange for future  _favors_.

The arrangement, of course, was conditional upon Luke’s usefulness. And, _boy,_ had he been useful indeed! Luke’s asshole of a so-called father had always told him he had been born to be king, but now he really was: king of being discreet. King of enabling and moderating incredibly volatile meetings.

Right this very second, he was also king of mixing drinks. His normal bartender was sick.

Such was the fragile nature humans, especially in winter. Luke himself had learnt his own painful lesson during his first year in this city — spending a week in bed, flying from a fever for the first time in his life, hadn’t been a fun experience. He’d never gone out without a scarf when it was under fifty degrees since.

But for all his prowess mixing drinks, he always seemed to get the patrons that ordered the boring ones. Scotch on the rocks! Putting water to boil was more complicated than that.

He’d spied Anthony Stark, the infamous Iron Man, coming into his very trendy, very ritzy establishment, and he’d just _known_ the man would bring trouble. He’d checked his appearance in the mirror just in case — longish red hair, blue eyes, white button up shirt, black dress pants, waistcoat and bowtie — and decided he was disguised well enough, considering that, the last time Stark had seen him, his hair had been black, his eyes absinthe green, and his clothes leather and metal.

Luke served the scotch to him, taking care not to call attention to himself. Why ruin a perfectly good disguise by being conspicuous? Wanting him out of here as fast as possible, he leant on the bar and followed Stark’s eyes to a couple of regulars.

Charlotte and her friend, whose name Luke had never managed to remember. Her hair was a shade of blond that usually indicated low intelligence and easy access in a woman, but Charlotte’s friend was quick as a whip and very picky about who she took to bed. Charlotte herself, with her gorgeous chocolate-colored skin and easy smile, was actually the shy one, which had endeared her greatly to Luke.

Guessing Stark would likely go for the blonde, he decided to help matters along. "The lady in red likes Appletinis," he said conspiratorially. “Shall I make her one from you?”

* * *

Tony scoffed and raised an eyebrow. How dared this man give _him_ — Tony Stark of all people — advice on how to get a chick? As if he needed help? Seriously, must be a joke.

Keeping his body in the same position, he turned only his head and fixed the man with a stare over his shoulder. He was ready to say something biting and cruel, but then he saw his face.

Usually, bartenders and waiters of any gender were non-sexual entities to Tony. They were working people, and though flirting earned them bigger tips, they seldom meant it. Tony got that. Tony respected that. Tony had learned to pay as little attention to them as possible and concentrate on the prize instead.

But this guy?

Longish fiery red hair, tied into a low ponytail, a few escaped wisps framing his perfectly symmetrical face. Skin milky white, even and perfect, with a hint of freckles along the bridge of the nose. Eyes blue like the sky and piercing like knives. Thin pale lips pulled into a teasing smirk.

' _Helloooo,'_ he thought, dragging the word out in his head in sheer admiration. This young man was an incredibly good-looking specimen of the male gender. He belonged in a Renaissance painting.

Tony didn’t fuck men as a rule, with some memorable exceptions. But this guy? He had an aura, a  _je-ne-se-quoi_ that made Tony unable to keep his eyes off him. He _wanted_ him. And what Tony wanted…

Making a spur-of-the-moment decision, he turned around in the stool and rested his arms on the bar. "Oh, really?” he said teasingly. “What about you? What do  _you_ like?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

The redhead stared at him, unimpressed. "I like _motorcycles_ ," he answered curtly, taking his hands off the bar as if he thought Tony might grab them and start making out with his fingers.

Maybe Tony’d come on too strong? “Really now?” he chuckled, dipping his head in acknowledgement of the implied ‘ _So fuck off._ ’ He’d have to try harder. Tough nuts were actually his favorite to crack. He’d push a bit more before taking ‘No’ for an answer, just in case Ginger Spice over there had a change of heart. "Because I happen to have several. Some of them are even vintage.” He smirked and sipped his drink. “Do you have one yourself?"

The bartender looked around nervously, as if hoping someone would come rescue him. "A BMW,” he said at last, in a bored tone, obviously only answering to be polite. “Modified it myself. Runs like a dream." The gorgeous blue eyes dropped down to Tony’s glass. "More whiskey?"

God, that  _accent_. Beautiful. He couldn't place it — it sounded British, but not  _quite_ — but he knew he wanted to hear more of it. Specifically, he wanted to hear this man whispering dirty things in his ear with that voice like liquid velvet.

Tony nodded and slid the glass closer to him. "Yes, please." He rubbed his bearded chin, still making doe-eyes at the beautiful young man. "That's great, about your BMW," he picked up the conversation, not letting the man change the subject. This was only strike two. He had one more left. "Those are already pretty loyal, and customized?” He gave a low whistle of appreciation. “I'd _love_ to see it. Could you show it to me?”

* * *

 

Luke grimaced, thanking the Norns he’d been looking for the bottle of scotch and not watching Stark’s face. "I left it at home," he invented, pouring Stark another glass. Curse his pathological need to lie to people! Why had he said he still had his ex-boyfriend’s bike? "It's too precious to bring it here at this time of the night. This is still New York, even if the neighbourhood is nice."

Then he froze in the middle of putting the bottle back, eyes widening minutely.

Oh, no. He'd made a _huge_ mistake. He had just practically invited Stark to follow him home.

And Stark, the asshole who wouldn’t take no for an answer, pounced on the chance like a predator. "I have lots of free time," he commented, taking a sip of scotch. "I'm my own boss, so to speak… So,  _maybe,_ " he looked at Luke suggestively, trailing a finger on the rim of his glass, "I can wait for you to finish your shift and drive you home?" He locked eyes with Luke. “Just to see your modified bike, of course.”

_Of course._

The wink that followed those words made Luke’s skin crawl. He ran the scenarios through his head, buying time by humming pensively as he polished a couple glasses with a clean rag.

**Cons:**

  * This was Stark. He might recognize Luke at some point.
  * It would mean closing the bar early.
  * It was STARK. Who knew where his dick had been?



**Pros:**

  * Luke hadn't had sex since breaking up with Jimmy.
  * Sex with Stark was bound to be good, considering the experience he had amassed.
  * Playing hard to get would only make Stark focus all the more on him. If Luke sleeps with him now, he can get rid of him faster.
  * It was Stark, one of the Avengers. If he ever found out with whom he'd slept, the results would be  _hilarious_.



Luke decided it was worth a go. He’d done far less savory things to keep his head afloat than sleeping with attractive, experienced men. "I'm my own boss too, actually," he said, forcing warmth he wasn't feeling into his voice. He _would_ enjoy this, he reminded himself. "I'll close early, around 11. Okay with you?"

The man lit up like Up Helly Aa and sat up straighter. His eyes were dancing with triumph as he sipped his drink. "Okay, sounds like a plan, I'll wait for you in a booth.” Probably swinging his legs under the chair, he looked so happy. “By the way, I’m Tony. What do I call you?"

Luke thought about giving him an even faker name, but decided against it. Tony Stark was resourceful; he could find his current fake identity very easily, and if he sniffed out that Luke had something to hide, he wouldn’t stop until he found out _everything._ "Lukas," he answered with a small, calculated smile, "but everyone calls me Luke."

Tony massaged his jaw and nodded. "Lukas," he said, rolling the name on his tongue like it was exotic chocolate. "Fits you. I like it, Luke." He grinned seductively. "I hope your girlfriend won't be mad at you when you get home late with me."

Luke saw that for what it was — a veiled question about whether or not was spoken for. A bit late for that, huh? "It's  _boyfriend_ , actually," he lied through his teeth, thinking of Jimmy. "And he's busy working at 1OAK tonight, don't worry," he winked, serving the annoyance another measure of scotch. "On the house."

What he wouldn’t give for Jimmy to come blundering in and rescue him…

"A boyfriend, that's cool,” Stark said idly, sounding like he wasn’t even paying attention to what he was saying. “So you are a modern boy, living in our modern world. That’s nice." His fingernails drummed on the polished bar distractedly, his eyes roaming the bottles behind Luke. “Thanks for the drink, by the way. Is he a bartender too?"

Jimmy, a bartender? Luke scoffed. He'd crush the glasses every time he was asked to fix a drink; probably knock over the bottles, too. "No, he's the bouncer," he told Stark.

He didn’t bother saying, ‘ _So watch yourself_.’ It was pretty obvious in the words.

With saucy wink, he dispatched Stark to a booth and went to serve the girls, Charlotte and Friend, who were clamoring for his attention.

* * *

 

Luke finished chasing the last protesting patrons out — a couple had been in the middle of a drug deal, and he’d had to wait for them or lose his cut of the profit — and went back behind the bar to clean everything up and close the register.

Math was miraculously perfect on the first try, the way it never was on a usual day when he was desperate to go home. Typical. Now he had no further excuses to keep ignoring Stark, who was staring fixedly at him from a table in a way that only slightly more subtle than holding up a neon sign reading ' _Can we go and fuck already?_ '.

Luke turned off the lights, armed the alarm, grabbed his coat and his keys, and approached Stark’s table. Forcing a smile, he asked, "Shall we?"

Tony smiled and nodded, his eyes looking rather glassy. "Yep, I'm following you, Gorgeous." He stood up with some difficulty, using the table as support, and then somehow managed to get his coat and scarf on.

The bartender tried not to laugh at his drunk antics, but he couldn’t help but chuckle when Stark missed the coat’s left armhole twice in a row.

Once they were all bundled up, they walked out of the bar. Stark, Luke noticed, was swaying slightly on his feet, but he was by no means staggering. Still, it would not be wise to let him drive. There was only one car in the parking garage expensive enough to be Stark’s; a beautiful, sleek convertible. The man had great taste in cars, Luke would admit that freely. "Keys," he called to the intoxicated man in a no-nonsense voice.

"What keys?” Stark asked, indignant, rolling his eyes. “I'm clean, I'll drive." He rummaged in his coat’s pocket for the keys, pressing a button on the key chain. The car’s lights flashed as it unlocked itself, and he began walking towards his car, swinging the keys around in his hand. "Nobody gets to drive my baby but me."

Luke arched a brow. ' _Is that so?'_  He was  _not_  getting in a metal death trap driven by a drunk. "Forget your _baby_ , then. She can stay overnight.” Something like that would be prohibitively expensive for Luke, but Stark’s billions would barely feel it. “Let's take a cab."

The billionaire scoffed. "No way!" He let the keys fly from his grip before catching them in his fist. "Tony Stark, in a cab? I'd rather _die_." He looked down at his hand for a good long while, before nodding to himself and tossing the keys at Luke.

Startled, Luke almost didn’t catch them. Seriously? He’d get to drive Stark’s _Baby_?

 "And you be kind with her," Stark added, interrupting Luke’s mini-celebration. With two fingers, he pointed at his eyes and then at Luke in a very clear I'll-be-watching-you gesture.

"I know how to treat a lady, _Tony_ ," Luke grumbled, rolling his eyes. Better him than a drunk Stark at the wheel, even though the only experience he had with driving was the beat up Volkswagen Bug he’d bought after Jimmy took the bike.

Stark narrowed his eyes at him but said nothing more as he got into the passenger seat and began tapping his fingers against the dashboard.

Luke joined him in the car, buckling himself in automatically. It was manual transmission, which was great; he loved driving stick. And the seats were all soft and fragrant leather. When he started the engine, it purred like a cat being stroked just right. ' _I really have to ditch the Bug and steal one of these_ ,' he thought admiringly, gripping the ergonomically-designed wheel. "Gorgeous car," he praised, one hand curling over the gear shift carefully.

The billionaire smiled, pretty proud, and put a light hand on Luke's fingers. "Can you feel it?" he muttered, voice low in his throat, his thumb stroking the back of Luke’s hand. "She already loves you; she's asking you to stroke her." He helped Luke move the stick, a salacious smile on his face letting it on that he was imagining something else entirely under Luke’s hand, before pulling away.

Luke could indeed feel the soft vibrations under his hand as he drove. The wheel was incredibly responsive; he barely had to make a gesture, and it was like the car was reading his mind. He snuck sideways glances at Tony every once in a while, enjoying, at last, the way the man's gaze fell on him.

It was as if knowing that Luke was enjoying his car only made him even more attractive in Tony's books. The man licked his lips and put his hand on Luke's knee, squeezing softly. When it wasn’t rejected, he leaned in close and began nuzzling and licking at the tender flesh of his neck, hand slowly creeping upwards.

The driver let his head fall slightly to the side, enjoying the gentle attentions. His eyes caught Tony’s heavy-lidded ones in a chance glance.

Then Tony closed his eyes, breaking the moment, and groaned softly. "You are so distracting," he murmured against the skin of Luke’s neck.

Luke hummed in amusement. "Try not to distract _me_ too much," he said, “or else we'll crash before the main event.” The way he spread his legs just slightly, giving Tony more room to work, belied his words. He’d never been one to truly lose his mind in pleasure, and the drunken affections of a mortal man wouldn’t be enough anyway.

The other simply smiled, nose buried under Luke’s earlobe. He moved his hand further up Luke's thigh slowly, stroking the leg, fingertips massaging the flesh under the cheap uniform slacks. "It's okay, I'll play nice," Stark lied. The next second, his warm hand was cupping the bulge between Luke’s thighs. The kisses and licks to Luke’s neck got sparser and sparser, while the biting and sucking became more frequent.

Luke licked his lips and took a deep breath, his eyes on the road. Not much further now, thankfully; this was torture. This human body felt too much.

Humans were like mayflies — like falling stars that burned so shortly and  _so brightly_ — but they certainly made up for it in the intensity.

Suddenly warm, he took off his bow-tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt.

Very much aroused, Tony took his hand off the hot bulge and slipped it into the opened shirt, stroking the hairless chest underneath, fingers seeking and playing with a tender pink nipple. He was already panting and groaning slightly from lust, his puffs of breath cooling the wetness in Luke’s neck.

Luke moaned softly, more because of the fact that Tony was  _so damned turned on_  than because of his ministrations. Though, admittedly, they felt rather nice. "You want me badly, don't you?" he asked teasingly, his voice low.

"Oh, hell yes, I want you badly, you beautiful work of art,” Stark whispered in Luke's ear, before sucking on the earlobe and letting it go with a wet pop. “You are like a kitten, just begging for a petting. I can't wait to make you mewl."

' _Well, that’s not degrading at all_ ,' Luke thought acidly, feeling pity that Stark had been lied to and taught that this sort of dirty talking was in any way arousing. " _You_ ," he spoke low and seductively into Tony's ear, forgetting the road for a moment, "are like a _puppy_ going through puberty, rubbing itself against anything it can reach."

Stark let out a peal of belly laughter, right into Luke’s sensitive and reddened skin. “Faugh! The _kitten_ has claws." He dissolved into quiet chortles, his fingers pinching Luke’s nipple. "Maybe — have you thought about it? — maybe you just have me under your spell, huh?" He laughed breathily and smiled. "How much further, my Juliet?"

For an answer, Luke parked the car. "We're here, _Romeo_." He pushed Stark away from himself and unbuckled his seat-belt. "Do you need me to help you walk?"

"Are you kidding? I'm not _that_ drunk,” Stark answered, opening the door. He got out and promptly needed to hold onto the roof of the car.

The redhead got out as well, closed the door behind himself, and smirked at Stark over the car, one eyebrow going up.

“I’m just lil’ tipsy,” the man defended himself, narrowing his eyes at Luke. “Shut up." He pushed off the car and closed the passenger’s door with a bit too much force.

Luke was looking forward to seeing Tony Stark, the Iron Man, fall flat on his face because yes, actually, he  _was_  that drunk. “What _ever_ you say, Tony,” he replied, locking the car with the remote control in the keychain. ‘ _Handy invention, this,_ ’ he thought as he began walking to his apartment complex.

He had to hand it to humankind, they sure knew how to make their lives easier.

Stark followed unsteadily behind him, looking at the dirty walls and broken windows with a disgusted expression on his face. “Are you seriously living here?” he asked, sounding as disgusted as he looked. A police siren sounded in the background, and he sent a nervous glance in his _Baby_ ’s direction. “Thank fuck my car has good insurance.”

Luke pushed front door open — the lock hadn’t worked in all the time he’d been living here — and got in, not bothering to hold it open for Stark. “Don’t worry, no one will dare steal it from that spot,” he said, calling the lift. Everyone who was anyone in this neighborhood knew not to touch Luke’s stuff. At first, it had been because he was Jimmy’s boyfriend, but now it was because everyone knew what Luke was capable of.

Leaning on the wall for balance, pretending not to notice the peeling paint, Stark watched him. His eyebrow was raised, conveying just how dubious he was. “If you say so…” His nose wrinkled as a breeze blowing in from the open door washed them in the smell of stale urine.

The elevator made a loud _clank_ noise as it arrived.

Stark jumped, his eyes widening in alarm. "For God’s sake, tell me it won't fall!"

Luke turned toward the opening elevator door and spoke scornfully. "We could always take the stairs, but going by the state you are in—!" He didn't get to finish, he was suddenly pushed into the elevator and face first against the back wall. “Tony?!”

Stark nuzzled the nape of Luke's neck. He had to stand on tiptoe to do it. "I can't wait anymore," he grunted, pressing his hips into Luke's ass and kissing a shoulder _._  "You are so damn hot, you drive me  _crazy_ ," he whispered in a husky voice.

"Press 7," Luke said hoarsely, all scorn vanishing from his voice. "I'm not letting you fuck me in the lift." Stark was shorter than the men he usually went for, so he had to bend his knees slightly to properly rub his ass on his crotch. He could feel exactly how hard the billionaire was. He smirked; he would have Stark wrapped around his little finger in no time.

Stark needed three tries to properly hit the correct button, but he didn’t seem concerned about it, busy as he was trying to fuck Luke through their clothes.

The elevator started with a jump, making yet another disquieting _CLANG!_ , and the next few seconds passed like hours.

Evidently impatient, Stark’s hands slipped under Luke’s vest and began fumbling at the shirt’s buttons. Nose buried at the nape of Luke’s neck, he inhaled deeply. "I like your scent, Darling."

Luke laughed internally at that. Really, what would the Axe people say if he told them their cheap fragrances attracted lecherous _male_ billionaires instead of willing women? He reached back over his shoulder, grabbed Stark’s hair, and pushed his face into his neck. "Less talking, more licking."

The shorter man grinned against Luke’s flesh, right before acquiescing with his order. Right when things were getting interesting, however, the elevator came to a stop with a jolt that made him lose his balance. He barely managed to catch himself on a wall. "Okay, here we go," he muttered as if to himself, before straightening and walking out as the doors rolled open.

Luke chuckled, seeing Stark fumble out of the elevator, breathless and red-faced. He took pity on the man. “Come here,” he said with a roll of his eyes, right before grabbing Stark under the arm and guiding him to his door.

Stark took advantage of not having to concentrate on walking, instead groping Luke’s crotch and grinning lasciviously at him.

He was handsy as Luke fished the key out of his coat pocket and turned it in the lock, and as they went inside, this time massaging Luke’s ass and mouthing at his neck. He remained handsy while Luke closed the door and led them both to his bedroom in the dark, getting rid of coats and shoes and waistcoats on the way.

Once inside the bedroom, Stark pushed Luke against a wall, catching Luke's lips with his, almost biting them, then sucking and licking with passion, his tongue trying to find its way to its twin. "Damn, you taste good," he moaned into the one-sided kiss, grunting like an animal.

Luke could tell Stark's higher brain functions were gone. Out the window. _Poof!_ This would be, he thought with a grin, the  _perfect_  time to kill him and end half his problems… Except it would mean sacrificing all he had gained so far — _and_ a night of great sex. He grabbed Tony's head by the hair and tore his mouth away. "No kissing.“

"No kissing, huh?” Stark murmured, looking put out. He scrunched up his lips and moved them from side to side, mulling over that condition, before nodding. “I can deal with that. But I top.” He grabbed Luke's shirt with his two hands and opened it violently, making buttons fly everywhere.

Gritting his teeth in the effort to hold back a punch, Luke contented himself with smacking the brute upside the head and shoving him aside. He was _not_ letting this animal anywhere near his ass, unless it was on _his_ terms. "If you want to top,” he said, sitting down on the bed and turning on the ugly second-hand bedside-table lamp, “you have to do as I say.” He undid the button and zipper of his pants, watching Stark with challenge in his eyes. “Otherwise, I top."

Stark, for his part, scoffed and joined him on the bed. “Like there’s anything to think twice about,” he said, leaning over and kissing one of Luke’s pink nipples. He held it between his teeth as he pushed the ruined shirt off his shoulders, letting it pool around his wrists. “You like to boss people around, huh, you kinky little shit?”

Luke grinned, extracting his hands from the cloth and pushing it off the side of the bed. “I do; I love watching my minions do my bidding.” He grabbed Stark by the hair and pulled him off violently. “Now strip.”

Amused brown eyes peered up at him from Stark’s mischievous face. “Sir, yes, sir!” the man laughed drunkenly, saluting and everything, before sitting up. He took off his shirt by pulling it off as if it were a t-shirt, the tank-top that he wore underneath riding up and baring his toned stomach before he smoothed it down. “This one stays,” he said steadily, not meeting Luke’s eyes but obviously not willing to accept any argument.

Luke saw no reason to give him one. He didn’t care about Stark’s chest — though the circle of light he could see shining through the opaque cloth did give him pause — but about his dick and his ability to use it. “Sure. The pants go, though.” He wouldn’t have the man fucking him while still dressed. He found that appallingly humiliating.

Stark regarded him as if he was an idiot. “Of _course_ the pants go.” He shook his head as if not believing what he had just heard, and fought against his pants. "What other rules will I have to obey?" He stood to finish taking off his jeans and boxers, and then decided to help Luke. He pulled on the slacks at his ankles, sliding them down his long pale legs, and then rolled off his brightly-colored briefs, before leaning over him and kissing his belly. “Hey, the carpet matches the drapes,” he pointed out with a grin, tangling his fingers in Luke’s pubic hair.

Luke rolled his eyes. "Just suck me," he growled, pushing Stark's head lower and spreading his legs to accommodate him.

"Bit domineering, aren’t you?" Stark murmured, laying kisses that followed Luke’s happy trail. "But that's okay, Babe, I like it." He skipped the most sensitive part, which was simply  _begging_  for attention, and instead dipped his head to nibble at the inner thighs.

Luke growled a bit. "Get _on_ with it, Tony," he ground out, lifting his hips slightly into the air, trying to get contact. “And quit it with the demeaning nicknames.”

The billionaire chuckled. “Not demeaning,” he said, wrapping strong and calloused fingers around the long hard cock, noticing how it curved backwards into Luke’s belly. “Appreciating, _Baby._ ” He started stroking it slowly, staring at his handwork and licking his lips with greed.

Exasperated, Luke rebuked him with a mild boop on the top of his head. “Fine, you can keep the nicknames. But no ‘baby’ or ‘babe’ or ‘boy’, got it?”

“Yeah, got it,” Stark replied, dipping his head to kiss at the curve of Luke’s cock. “All grown up, you are, I can see that,” he added, sounding amused, and started giving the shaft tiny kitten licks all over, all tease and no substance. “How about I call you after candy, huh, Lollipop? Cause you’re _so_ sweet?”

“How about,” Luke said, exasperated, “you call me by my name, _Ho Ho_?”

Stark broke into giggles, hiding his face in Luke’s thigh. “You said ‘ho’,” he said, and his voice came out muffled. “Oh God, sorry, that was just hilarious.” He pressed an apologetic kiss to the skin under his mouth, which turned into sucking a mark onto it.

Luke rolled his eyes and let him, figuring that no one would see it anyway. “Are you done, then?” he asked when the suction petered off into faint snickers. “Here,” he said, grabbing Stark’s idle hand. He held it to his mouth. “Copy what I do. I think that’s not above your current IQ.” He licked the tip of the index and middle fingers.

“Wait, wait, lemme just—“ Stark pulled himself up, bracing his elbow against Luke’s hip, “—adjust… There we go. Right.” He held the cock at the base and bit his lip. His big brown eyes flickered up to meet Luke’s, as if checking he was doing alright; he looked deceivingly adorable like that. Putting his face right over the cockhead, he opened his mouth and let his tongue fall out. He licked the sensitive head with it, teasing the slit, like Luke had done to his fingers.

“Oh, yes,” Luke hissed, “good. Well done.” He stroked Stark’s hair and, putting the man’s fingers to his mouth again, licked from tip to knuckles and then back to the tips, drawing little zigzags with his tongue.

Stark followed along obediently, humming at bit and wiggling his fingers as if Luke’s tongue tickled. He quickly got Luke’s cock wet all over with saliva, and his puffs of breath cooled whatever skin they fanned over.

Even with central heating, Luke’s apartment was still cold.

Once Luke felt he was nicely wet, and Stark all warmed up, he sucked the fingers in up to the first knuckle and held them in the tight 'o' of his lips, rubbing at the tips with his tongue.

Stark moaned at the feeling, sounding wrecked, and had to breathe a couple times before he copied that, inviting the cockhead into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. The rough side of his tongue laved over the slick mushroom-shaped head as if it was the lollipop he’d nicknamed Luke after.

Fighting the urge to thrust up into it, Lukas took the fingers in the last knuckle, wanting to see if Stark would dare attempt to deep-throat him. They tickled the back of his throat, making him gag a little, and he swallowed around them.

Stark paused, swallowing hard, and then took him as deep as he could. He choked, the constrictions of his throat heavenly upon Luke's cock, before apparently deciding not to risk it and pulling back just enough that he wasn’t gagging. He hummed, trailing up at the end, as if asking if it was good enough.

It was. Or it would be. Luke slid the fingers in and out of his mouth, his lips tight around them, and Stark followed suit, bobbing his head to the rhythm with only a split-second of delay. The sheer will to please made Luke smile around the digits in his mouth. But his lips and tongue were getting tired, so he pulled the fingers almost out of his mouth with one last, lingering suck, then bit very slightly at the first joint, just holding it with his teeth.

Stark, if he found the order strange, gave no indication, instead hooking his teeth behind the cockhead, sinking them very, very softly into the flesh. He suckled at the slit, though Luke hadn’t told him to.

That was what convinced Luke that Stark had earned a respite. Shivering, he let the hand go, kissing the back gratefully and putting it down on his stomach. "Surprise me," he said, carding his fingers through Stark’s coarse hair.

No need to say it twice. Given free reign, Stark relaxed his throat muscles and took all the impressive length down his throat, actually surprising Luke, who’d thought he couldn’t do it. Stark sucked hard, his mouth like a hoover, as his now free hand played with Luke’s balls.

For his part, Luke leaned back and enjoyed the ride. He wasn’t one for loud noises, so he kept one hand on Stark’s head, stroking his hair to let him know he should not stop and that he was enjoying it very much. Without taking his eyes away from Stark's bobbing head, he threw his other arm out to the end table and rummaged in the drawer for lube and two condoms.

Yes, two. It was  _his_  bed, he wasn't going to sleep in a wet spot, thank you very much. Especially not when the solution was just a cheap and convenient sleeve of latex.

He tapped the crown of Tony's head with the tube, getting his attention, and offered it to him.

Stark raised his head, cock popping out of his mouth with a wet, dirty noise. He licked his lips clean and sat up, taking the lube. "Strawberry?” he asked, glancing from the tube to Luke and grinning. “You like _strawberries_?” he asked, the last word coming out in the warm tones someone might use to coo over a child.

The redhead groaned, blushing slightly. The _one_ time he buys something out of curiosity is the one time he invites a man back to his apartment. Figures. He was never going to live this down. “Tony…” he managed, silently begging the man to shut up. He hated being laughed at.

“That's…” Stark trailed off, his dilated eyes warm as they met Luke’s. “…really cute, actually." He looked down again, a lopsided smile playing on his blowjob-red lips, and popped the cap open. "Spread your beautiful thighs for me, will ya?" He was already slipping his hand between his legs by the time Luke complied.

 

"Hold on." Feeling self-conscious about his flush clashing with his red hair, Luke he turned around and got on all fours, ass in the air and facing Tony. He looked at the man over his shoulder, through his eyelashes. “Fingers first," he crooned, and rested his head on his folded arms.

Stark gaped, speechless for a moment. "Shiiiit, Creampie, you should be illegal," he murmured under his breath, almost in shock. He stroked Luke’s rump like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "Oh, right, fingers. Lube, lube first,” he carried on, narrating his thoughts absently.

Luke smiled privately, loving the attention — the _worship_ of it. Then he heard the tube being popped open, and the wet sound of the clear red gel being squeezed out. The room smelled like strawberries. Then he felt blunt, wet fingers at his asshole, and jumped slightly, tensing up.

"I can feel it moving,” Stark whispered, stunned. “Goddam it, this is unbelievable.” He kissed the small of Luke’s ass before carefully rubbing his fingers around. Once the sphincter relaxed again, he pushed his fingers in slowly.

Taking a deep breath, Luke kept himself relaxed by reminding himself that Stark had proven he was trustworthy, and that he didn’t need to be constantly supervised. He bore down on the intrusion, opening up invitingly for it.

“Ha!” Stark exclaimed, wiggling his fingers like worms. “Amazing. It’s like your ass is sucking my fingers in!" He sounded like he’d never seen anything half so wonderful in his whole life. No wonder he was a marvel of sex, then, if he always treated his partners this way.

Luke laughed, truly delighted. He’d missed having a lover. Humans had invented plastic cocks that vibrated and felt really good, and he had purchased some and enjoyed them, but nothing beat the real thing. "Get on with it," he called, speaking to the space under him, spying the man from between his thighs and hanging cock. "Use more lube, but no more fingers. I want to  _feel_  it when you stuff me full."

"Mm," Stark murmured appreciatively. "I like the words you are using." He squirted some lube directly onto Luke's little pink hole and bit his lip as he watched, completely fascinated, as it closed in reaction to the cold and then relaxed again. Then he pressed a finger into the gooey mess inside and began moving it in and out of the wet hole. "Oh, _fuck_ , hell yes," he grunted, "you are gonna be so  _damn_  tight."  

Luke tightened his sphincter as much as he could in this frail human body — he had been known to cut off uninvited cocks with it, before — egging the man on. "Rotate it, Tony, coat my insides fully," he said levelly, if a bit breathily. Oh, he might just have to keep this mortal, he was that good at following directives.

Stark’s cock twitched against Luke’s thigh, rock hard and begging for attention. "Yes, my illegally beautiful strawberry cupcake, whatever you wish," he joked, rotating his finger. He spread the clear gel evenly all over the inner walls, moaning softly and low in his throat as they moved around his finger, sucking it in. Smiling winningly at Luke, he paused to add, slowly, the second finger. He spread them as far as they would go and poured more lube into the space between them, before fucking Luke with them.

Luke snuffled at the cold trickle, rubbing his face into his arms. Fuck, this felt good. He especially liked the way Stark used with his knuckles, rubbing them on the rim on the way in and out, and the way Stark’s fingers wiggled greedily, reaching as deep as possible. “Can you find my prostate?” he asked, making it into a game.

“Heh, you bet I can,” Stark replied, full of bravado. He began prodding Luke’s inner walls gently, searching for it. He seemed to favor one spot in particular, hooking his fingers and pressing deep there. “Here,” he said, sounding sure.

"Oooh, almost, Tony," Luke laughed between moans. "Well done, Pet. It’s actually a bit deeper and to the right… Here, let me.” Propping himself up on one arm, he reached behind himself and took Stark’s wrist, moving the fingers to his satisfaction. When Stark prodded it, he collapsed back onto the mattress. “ _Yes, right there,_ ” he said, voice strangled. He couldn’t help but grind down on the fingers. “Carry on.”

Stark did so gladly, a surprising smile on his face. It wasn’t smug, just satisfied, and maybe still a bit stunned. “I wanna fuck you so bad,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of an ass cheek. “Wanna fuck _this.”_ With that, he jabbed the spot mercilessly and _rubbed_ his fingertips into it.

Luke cried out loudly, his head dipping low between his shoulders. ' _Damn it, Stark_ ,' he thought, trembling. Much more of this and he’d come. "Enough!" he ordered. "Get on with it!"

Stark beamed. “You want to get to the part where I put my cock inside you and rub your sweet spot until you come?" He dug his teeth into Luke’s flesh hand enough to leave indents before sitting up again. He drew his fingers out, the calluses catching on the rim deliciously, and grabbed a foil packet. "I can definitely get behing that,” he murmured, his voice coming out as a snarl because he was using his teeth to tear it open. "Your ass is so  _hungry._ ” He spat out the empty foil and rolled the condom on. “Hungry for my cock, mm?” He grabbed said cock and tapped it against the pucker he would soon be fucking, as if anyone needed any clarification on which ass he was speaking about.

Luke rolled his eyes. Great, exactly what he needed, to be mocked for wanting a good fuck. Any regard for Stark that had built up was evaporating. "What are you waiting for, Stark?” he grumbled, snatching the unused condom and tearing the wrapper open in front of his face. “A written invitation?"

"Can I have one?” Stark asked, laughter in his voice, and kept his dick aimed with his hand. “I'll have it framed, promise.” He pushed forward. “ _You are cordially invited to penetrate—_ nngh, _fuck_!”

The cockhead popped in, making Luke whimper quietly.

Stark choked out, “Fuck, you’re tight,” brushing his thumb over Luke’s hip appreciatively. He fucked shallowly in and out and in again, letting the ring of muscle start to close each time he pulled out, making it even better for both of them. "Oh, damn..." he breathed, arching his back.

Luke moaned gratefully, relishing in the burn caused by the repeated stretching. He got up on one arm to roll his own condom onto his neglected dick; when he was done, he pushed his ass backwards, impaling himself fully onto Stark's cock. " _Yessss_ ," he hissed out, long and steady like a balloon deflating, and only stopped pushing backwards when he felt warm balls against his perineum. Then he began rhythmically clenching and unclenching his ass as he twitched back and forth, tempting Stark to get a move on.

" _Ohmygodfuck_ ," the man gasped, holding onto Luke’s hips to help him along. "How—damn! How do you even _do_ that?”   He remained still, though, probably watching Luke’s asshole making his cock disappear like magic. Then a huge shudder racked him, and he dug his fingers to keep Luke’s hips still. "Calm down, Kitten. I got you," he said huskily, patting the lovely pale rump apologetically. “I got you,” he repeated, and started rocking his hips.

' _Well, finally_ ,' thought Luke, letting out a long, drawn out sigh. He let his arms relax and brought his head back down onto his wrists, enjoying the rhythmical strokes to his inner walls. When he felt more comfortable, he turned his head onto his cheek and requested a faster pace, arching his back into the intrusion.

Stark began increasing the pace and strength of the thrusts until his pounding produced some very nice slapping sounds that echoed in the bedroom. “This okay?” he asked, his length bumping into and stroking Luke’s sweet spot more times than not.

"Mmm, good,” Luke replied, his eyes falling closed as he concentrated on the feeling. He met Stark’s thrusts at an angle, increasing the chance of dick-on-prostate, and decided, breathless, that he could go for more. “Harder, Tony, make me feel it,” he panted between soft moans, his breath pushed out of his body with every of Stark’s thrusts.

Stark grunted — chuckling defiantly as if asking _‘you sure ’bout that?’ —_ and pounded harder _and_ faster, sending him onto his face. He still managed to somehow keep and hitting Luke's sweet spot, though that probably had something to do with the way his hands, so tight on Luke that there would surely be bruises come morning, kept his hips optimally tilted. "Ah, ah, dammit!" he chanted, his breath cooling the sweat on Luke’s back.

Luke was burning, his long hair sticking to his neck and face, his hands tangled in the sheets in permanent fists. He was close, and he could feel, from the desperation, that Stark was as well. With the weak, flimsy mortal coil they were both wearing, it would be some time before they could start a second round, and wanted to prolong the pleasure. "Mmm, wait, Stark, not yet,” he said, though he couldn’t help but roll back into the blunt, hot cock inside him. “Go deeper," he ordered, "as deep as you can. Deep and slow."

Stark made a noise like he wanted to argue, but he relented and slowed down his motions, struggling to follow the request and not his instincts. He was out of breath and covered with a thin layer of sweat, and his heart was beating so fast Luke could feel pulse inside him. Suddenly, he pulled out and took his hands off Luke’s hips.

Luke was about to complain, his ass very much begging for some action, but there was a rustle of fabric and a couple grunts from Stark that cut him off. Right after, blue light filled the room, highlighting the contours of Luke’s body and bed. A black, wet piece of fabric was discarded in a heap over the side of the bed — oh, right, the tank top. That explained a few things. “Stark,” he groaned, slightly miffed at the interruption.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Stark replied, managing to sound like he was rolling his eyes, and grabbed the hips again. Slowly, very slowly, his cock slid back home at a different angle than before, reaching as deep as it would go into the body beneath him. “Oh. My. God.” Stark grunted, starting a shallow rhythm that stroked deep into Luke’s bowels. “This is fucking  _delicious._ "

Luke let out a low, long keen. "Mmm, I know,” he breathed, melting. But he knew how it could be better. He slid his arms forward, resting his upper chest on the mattress, his head pressed to it sideway. "Come closer, Tony. Put your elbows next to my shoulders, mm? Lean your weight on me."

“Your command is my wish,” Stark joked, and soon enough Luke felt the hot, muscled chest plastering itself to his sweaty back.

It should have felt constricting. Should have felt like Stark was pinning him down. Luke knew that, if Stark decided he liked it there, there was very little he could do to move him. But he also knew that he need only say the word and Stark would be getting off and putting on his clothes in a second, and that pleased him almost more than the skilled cock up his ass. He turned his head a bit more to look the man in the eye. "Own me," he ordered, voice catching.

Stark’s breath caught. "Oh, gladly!" he murmured, kissing the knob at the nape of Luke’s neck. He leaned more of his weight on Luke's back, and kept on trailing barely-there kisses over Luke’s flushed neck and shoulders. He resumed moving his hips, now in longer strokes, stroking Luke’s prostate in each slide home.

They carried on the slow pace for a while; each thrust out leaving a trail of burning heat in its wake, and Luke only wanted more, wanted to stay like this forever, wanted to come, wanted to make it last as long as he could... He wanted everything. "Are you close?" he asked Tony, voice small.

“Hell yes I am, nfff, so close,” the self-proclaimed playboy managed between soft moans. “Hn, you are feel so good, Creampie." Yet he began increasing the pace, driven by an instinct Luke understood only too well. He rolled his hips harder and harder, cock still buried deep, drilling him into the mattress. "Lukas, come—come with me."

"Y—Yes," panted Luke, "please. Faster.”  He was coming undone;  _undone_ , for a mortal who followed all his commands, who would have  _knelt_  for him if he had asked, and,  _oh_ , it was wonderful. “Go at your pace, haa, do what you want—ahh!"

Stark’s hips went nuts, plowing into him with the power of a hydraulic hammer. And then he gave one, two more stuttering thrusts before going stiff and coming with a loud, explosive grunt. He released jet after jet of hot, creamy spunk into the condom — Luke fancied he could feel his cock pulsing, so very deep — and then rode his orgasm out with a few more thrusts.

Luke came like that, thanking his every star that Stark had so much practice that his thrusts were amazingly accurate even in the throes of orgasm. He was barely able to breathe for the man's weight crushing his body, but he didn’t care; he was in his happy place. At this point, he wouldn't have cared one whit if the man had disobeyed his order to use a condom.

They stayed like that, catching their breaths. Stark, layering more distracted kisses on Luke’s back; Luke, congratulating himself for having accepted to take this man home.

Luke smiled, enjoying the feeling of the cock softening inside him. One last caress — that was always his favorite part of sex with men — as it deflated. Only when he tried to shift his body did he notice that Stark was now a dead weight on him. Had he fainted? How adorable. "Tony?" he ventured.

No response, except for a few placid breaths and a thumb twitching now and then into a caress to Luke’s hip.

Hm, fine. Luke slowly tilted his body to the side until he felt Stark’s weight dislodging, the soft cock falling out as the man dropped onto his side. He was tired to the bones and wanting nothing more than to stay as he was, warm, with Stark’s arm still hanging over his waist, but he knew from experience that the colored contacts would smart in the morning. So he gathered all his will and got up, getting rid of the condoms in the kitchen trashcan on the way to the bathroom.

Luke quickly took the contacts off, washed and stored them in their little case, leaving it in a handy spot for the next morning, just in case he'd have to deal with Stark again. He took a couple gulps of water from the tap, replenishing fluids, and went back into the bedroom.

It stank of sex and strawberries.

Stark hadn't moved from the position in which Luke had left him. The glowing circle in his chest casted the colors of the room in pale, eerie blue light.

Blinking tiredly, Luke got the blankets from where they had fallen to the floor, lifted Stark's arm, and practically dove into the warm, warm bed under it. He covered them both with the blankets and turned off the little bedside-table lamp.

His last thought before dozing off was that Stark smelled nice too, even when bathed in sweat.

* * *

Lukas woke up, at least half an hour before his alarm rang, with the sun in his eyes and numb arm. Suddenly filled with dread, he looked down and saw, yep, Stark, curled up around him, head resting on Luke's shoulder, cutting off the blood flow to his right arm. ' _Why the hell is he still here?_ ' he thought, annoyed.

Then he remembered how drunk the other man had been the night before and chuckled before he could catch himself.

Careful not to wake the man, as Luke didn't care for the awkward conversations of mornings-after, he slid out from under Stark’s head and sat up, stretching his back. He regarded the man, noticing the slight furrow in his brow as he slept, and thought again about easy it would be to just kill him. He kept a knife in the bedside table; it would be no effort at all to simply slide it between Stark’s ribs.

He pictured the face Stark would make at waking up from the pain. Pictured how it would feel to watch the life drain from his face, his eyes closing as he struggled to breathe. If he aimed wrong and hit the lung instead of the heart, would blood bubble up from his mouth and trickle down the side of his face? Maybe it would be easier to remove the glowing device from his chest. At least he wouldn’t ruin the sheets…

Either way, he’d still have a body on his hands, and no convenient way to dispose of it. Besides, Stark had earned his right to live another day. Luke had never been one to reward such a clever and generous lover with death.

After stroking Stark’s temple with the back of his knuckles, a tender display of appreciation he would never have contemplated if the man had been awake, he got off the bed and closed the curtains. He had forgotten to do it last night; his neighbors from the building across the street must have gotten a show. He walked to the kitchen, smirking at the notion, and started the old coffeemaker. As a mortal himself, he now understood the dependency humans had on it, even if he couldn't stand the taste, and he was sure Stark would be in dire need of some joe.

Leaving the coffee to percolate, Luke went into the bathroom, yawning, and turned on the shower. Since the apartment’s heater was feeble, he took a leak while he waited for the water to warm, and then waited some more sitting on the toilet. When steam started fogging the transparent plastic screen, he stepped into the stall and started his usual shower routine.

* * *

 

Tony woke up to the smell of coffee, an aching head, and a mouth like sandpaper. His mind was dizzy, like his skull had been stuffed with wool, and for a while all he could do was bury his face into the nice-smelling pillow and groan. Damn it, he hated hangovers. At least it wasn’t too bright. When his thirst grew to be too much, he yawned, stretched his body on the bed, and finally opened his eyes.

Then frowned, not recognizing the bedroom.

"Shit," he said softly, sitting up on the bed and rubbing his forehead. ' _Remember, Tony! I can do this._ ' He thought back to last night, retracing his steps in his mind’s eye. He’d wanted a drink and a fuck. ' _Bar, yep, so far so good. I was hoping to get laid… Did I go home with someone?’_ He had the sudden mental image of two women — one in red, the other in light blue — and Appletinis.

And a cagey redhead, standing behind a counter, pouring scotch for him.

 _‘The barman, right! Conned him into taking me home._ ’ That was weird. He usually didn’t go for men. Then he began remembering more. Drinking while he waited. Trusting someone to drive him. No kissing.

Details. Adorable freckles. A twinkle in blue eyes. The silky softness of copper-red hair against his cheek. A cheap deodorant scent that somehow worked with the ones of the laundry detergent and the shampoo. Cream-pale skin that flushed red under his mouth and beard. The unmistakable taste of cock and, later, ass. The sweet, lusty voice gasping his name between moans. Heat, pressure on his cock. Coming with his face buried between shoulder blades.

Passing out.

‘ _Oopsie_ , _that was rude._ ' Still, Tony’d managed to recall mostly everything, except where his car keys had gone and if he’d used a condom. He thought he might have, because he always did, but he didn’t remember putting it on. Whatever. Let’s blow this popsicle stand. "Oooookay, time to disappear, Houdini," he murmured to himself, and started hunting for his clothes.

They were strewn _all fucking over the place_. They literally couldn’t have spread further if he and Luke had stripped, balled all their clothing together, turned on the ceiling fan at max speed, and tossed the ball of laundry up at it.

He hit his head on the frame of the bed, retrieving a sock from under it, which wasn’t pleasant, and he had to catch himself on walls several times when he forgot to keep his balance, but he managed to get his boxers, jeans, socks and shirt on. The undershirt smelled like stale sweat, and he decided Luke could keep it.

Keep it and sniff it when he was feeling lonely and missing Tony’s awesome bedroom skills.

He was on the way to the living room to get his shoes and coat, when he realized the shower was on and Luke was probably inside it. Wet and naked. The door was ajar, obviously an invitation. He put a hand on the door and—

"Stark, there's coffee on if you want some!" came Luke’s voice from within.

Tony winced and clenched his eyes tight. Busted. "Heh. Epic fail for Houdini today," he chastised himself, smiling wryly. Then, guessing the gorgeous redhead would want a reply, he shouted, "Okay! Thank you!" and promptly regretted it. ' _Oww, fuck, my head..._ ' He managed not to complain about the pain, except in a soft hiss, and yawned. Coffee sounded great.

He turned towards the small kitchen, following his nose, but couldn’t keep the open bathroom door out of his mind. Coffee, or wet naked redhead with killer body? Caffeine, or shower sex? It was no contest; Luke won by a landslide.

Tony rubbed the back of his neck and poked his head in. The shower didn’t have a curtain, but glass or plastic sliding doors instead. And save some fogged up spots, the glass was completely transparent, and Luke completely visible in all his glory.

He was currently rinsing shampoo from his hair, washing off the nice thick lather. It trickled down his neck and chest in groups of bubbles, catching on his relaxed nipples and washboard abs. His cock hung limp from a tidy nest of red curls, a lot smaller than Tony remembered it. A grower, huh? He wondered what it would feel like, becoming hard in his hand. Becoming fat and long with blood, going from over-boiled sausage to the magnificent erection he remembered deep-throating.

Entranced by the spectacle, Tony walked in, silently so as not to disturb the performer. He watched the show with a lecherous grin, watched Luke sensually rub water into his body. He couldn't resist anymore. He knocked on the screen and said, "Morning, Popsicle."

* * *

Luke startled and blinked in surprise, which ended up with soapy water getting into his eye. He turned to face Tony, almost slipping, one hand held over his eye, the other on the tiled wall to steady himself.

“Whoa,” the man said, and then _slid open the screen and grabbed Luke._ “You okay, Candy Crush? You almost fell, there.”

Luke snapped out of his surprise, slapping the uninvited hands away. "What the fuck are you doing?!" he asked, voice shrill, looking at Stark accusingly. He was _this_ close to kneeing the man in the crotch and then bashing his skull against the rails of the sliding door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, relax, chill!" Stark said, backing away. He held his hands in the universal _calm-the-fuck-down_  gesture. "You invited me in, remember?” The face Luke made at him must have conveyed his incredulous confusion, because Stark continued explaining. “Open door, when you are taking a shower?” he said with an arched eyebrow. “That’s an invitation where I come from.”

“No,” Luke said slowly, shaking his head, still weirded out. “I have low blood pressure. I leave the door open to let the steam out so I don’t get dizzy.” He felt the urge to hide his crotch behind his hands, but refrained.

Stark’s playful expression evaporated into horror. “Shit,” he breathed, finally looking away. “Sorry. I really thought…” He glanced up briefly at Luke, seeming genuinely apologetic, before directing his eyes to the tiled walls. “Sorry,” he repeated.

Luke took a steadying breath. ' _Auðumla grant me patience_ ', he thought. And then he started panicking, because he remembered he _wasn't wearing the contacts._ "It’s okay, it was just a misunderstanding,” he said, not letting on how strung out he truly was. "And get out of the stall, you’re getting my floor wet," he added curtly, motioning to Stark’s feet. Damn it.  _Why_ had he  _ever_  thought bringing Stark here was in  _any_  way a good idea?

Stark looked down and discovered he was standing in a puddle. “Oops,” he said, closing the screen and stepping back. He slid the terrycloth floormat into the spilled water so it would soak it up, dooming Luke to wet feet. “Sorry, wasn’t thinking. You’re just so beautiful when you are wet,” he explained, trying to look sheepish. It was obviously an act, judging by the way the man’s chocolate eyes roved all over Luke’s body, which was much like an art-thief would look at museum pieces behind glass. 

Luke rolled his eyes at the praising words, ignoring them. So he was pretty — what else was new in the world? It was the only thing he was good at anymore: being decorative. His human body was feeble as a newborn kitten, and he could only work magic through rituals and sigils — magic that took ridiculously long to take effect, at that. He paid no mind to Stark’s presence — let him watch if he wanted; he’d be out of Luke’s life soon enough — and instead grabbed the economy-sized bottle of conditioner, pouring some out into his hand.

Suddenly, Stark’s voice came, audible over the sound of the shower. “Aw, fuck, I look like hell,” he was saying.

Massaging conditioner into his hair, Luke turned his head, curious about what had prompted that, and found the man examining himself in the tarnished bathroom mirror.

He was rubbing his hands over his face, stroking his bristly cheeks and the bags under his eyes. “No more alcohol for you," he said, scowling at himself. Luke could see his reflection. “You’re getting old, and the booze isn’t helping.”

' _Don't remind me_ ,' Luke thought bitterly, his hands twitching into fists. Like the mortal was now wailing out for anyone to hear, it wouldn't be long until Luke too grew old and saggy and ugly, and then became a corpse, unless he could prove himself worthy of immortality. Like _that_ was going to happen. He scoffed, pushing his impending decay out of mind. "Make promises you can keep, idiot," he scolded.

Stark sighed and shook his head. "Point to you, Luke," he said, shrugging. "That’s not a promise I can keep." He turned around, returning to watching Luke as he combed through his hair with his fingers, untangling it.

Having finished with the conditioner, Luke gathered his hair into a knot, leaving it on as he soaped himself up. He knew perfectly well Stark was watching him now, and he was unable to resist putting on a show. He rubbed the bar of soap against the loofa, making a nice foam, and then sliding the latter down his neck, tilting his head away like a soap commercial. He carried on the motion liquidly, letting it spill over his shoulder and down an arm, looking at Stark through half-lidded eyes.

But it wasn't enough to distract Stark.

The man made a soft, “Heeey,” sound, perking up and tilting his head slightly to the right. “Luke, dude, your eyes are green?”

Aw, fuck. Luke closed his eyes and turned his face towards the floor. It started with finding out he had green eyes, then it became wondering why he’d been hiding behind colored contacts, and after than there was only one step to realization. And Stark was smart; he’d make that step in no time.

A hand on his chin interrupted his musings, gently turning his face. “Let me see,” Stark said softly.

Luke opened his eyes, only to find that Stark was standing with one foot the shower stall, the sliding screen open. The floor was already wet, so he didn’t say anything, merely locking gazes with curious brown eyes. He had bigger problems to worry about, now.

“That’s an amazing color. Like absinthe in the sunlight.” Stark’s voice was full of wonder. “I didn’t know it occurred naturally.”

' _Time to mess with his head,_ ' thought Luke. Oh, but then again, he couldn't tell the man the whole what-are-you-talking-about-my-eyes-have-always-been-like-this spiel he was preparing, because he'd left the case with the contacts on the sink, in plain sight. By the stars. He very pointedly grabbed Tony's wrist and pulled the hand off his face. But he stepped closer to Stark, staring down straight into his eyes, and let him watch his fill. Silent, defiant.

"Suits you way better than blue,” Stark continued, unable to look away. Then he blinked, and his brow wrinkled slightly, a strange expression overcoming the admiration. "Huh, déjà vu?" he whispered, barely audible over the spray, more to himself than anything else.

Luke’s heart skipped several beats, but he didn’t let his growing anxiety show on his face.

He could only hope Stark wouldn't connect the dots right away, and instead give him a day or two of head start. Just enough time to pack everything, change his look again, call some people, make arrangements for the bar, and vanish. Chicago would be a good place to disappear to. He liked lakes, and the local mob boss, Gentleman Johnny Marcone, had already expressed his desire to hire him as an occult consultant. But if he wanted that time, he needed to take Stark’s mind away from him, lest he remember just where he'd seen Luke before.

Closed his eyes in resignation, Luke tugged the intruder into the shower stall with him, clothes and all.

"Hey—ho!” Stark exclaimed, blinking wildly. “Whoa, what?”

Sliding the door shut, Luke turned the man around and pushed him face-first into it in the same fluid movement. “I want you, Stark,” he murmured, pressing into him from behind, Stark’s clothes becoming sodden and sticking to his skin.

"You are so, ah, impatient, Sweetheart.” Stark sounded uncomfortable. “At least let me take off my clothes first, no?" he asked with a chuckle that rang of nervousness. His hands came up to press against the clear plastic as if to push away, but he didn’t move.

Luke pressed harder against him, even though he knew that the rush of power he felt was an illusion. He could feel Stark’s body warmth bleeding through his wet clothes, the globes of Stark’s ass framing his limp cock perfectly. Blowing on Stark’s ear, he murmured, “Good idea, Tony,” and put one hand on the man’s crotch, fumbling for the button and zipper of his jeans, finding him to be already hard.

"Ah, Cupcake, now seriously, I should go,” Stark interrupted, but his ass pushed back into Luke, his head tilted sideways invitingly. His heart was galloping, and Luke could feel it drum against his ribs. “I have—I have an important meeting at nine a.m. and it's already..." he trailed off. "Wait, what time is it?"

Luke was amused at just how contradictory the mortal was being, like he couldn’t decide whether to succumb or run away. He pushed him further against the glass — knowing it would hold, because he and Jimmy had tested it _very_  extensively — and slid a thigh between his legs, hoisting him up on it. Licking the shell of Stark’s ear, he murmured wetly, "It's about seven thirty. You care for round two?"

Stark inhaled sharply. "Round two?" He giggled nervously, still facing strictly forward. He didn’t answer right away, so Luke took to undoing the zipper, and Stark made a complaining noise straight away. "Well... I don't know. To be honest, Luke, I’m—I’m not much liking my position right now."

 _'Tch, of course,_ ' Lukas thought. Was he the only one man enough to be argr and admit he liked it? The men he'd had sex with always  _promised_  reciprocation, but when he wanted to collect they were suddenly  _very busy_  or claimed not to know what he was talking about, while still eyeing Luke's own ass covetously whenever they could. Lukas gaped silently in indignation, bitterness and anger. He felt like biting Stark's ear off, but refrained.

Receiving no answer, Stark squirmed, shoulders tense despite the way he was leaning into the man at his back. “I'm a bit worried to have you, erm, behind me, if you catch my drift,” he admitted, turning his head just enough for Luke to see his wide eyes. “And anyway, didn't you say something about breakfast?" He smiled hopefully, looking very much like a scared rabbit. His pulse certainly agreed.

Luke exhaled in a very controlled fashion. It wasn’t Stark’s fault that he had issues. Besides, Luke was no rapist. “Pity,” he said, right into Stark’s ear, “I’d been planning on stuffing your tight little ass with my cock and rubbing your sweet spot until you came.” He paused to let that sink in, drawing back so he could hold the man’s now heated gaze and lick his lips where Stark could see. The motion pushed his now half-hard cock into Stark’s ass crack. "But if you'd rather cater to your hunger, who am I to say no?” He pushed off Tony, setting him back on the stall’s tiled floor.

Stark made no motion to leave, though by the way he’d talked he’s sounded like he wanted nothing else. He swallowed so thickly that Luke saw his Adam’s apple move. "S—stuff my ass and rub my sweet spot until I come," he repeated dumbly, before shaking his head. The corner of his mouth twirled upward. “Using my own words against me, are you?” he said, and it looked like he was actually considering it. Finally, he sighed. "Okay, Baby, go ahead.” He licked his lips, unsure, and added, "But don't forget I need to be able to sit for my meeting," before staring right ahead into the bathroom.

Lukas smiled triumphantly. The cherry on top was that Stark was facing away, presenting his back to Luke, offering his trust freely. Tony Stark was going to let him — _him_ , the bartender of a bar, who lived in a cheap apartment, drove a cheap second-hand car, and wore cheap deodorant — fuck him up the ass. From  _behind._ He slid his arms around Stark, pulling him flush against him, hugging him briefly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” he murmured into Stark’s ear, his hands stroking the man’s sides and stomach as they went to unbutton the waterlogged shirt.

“You’d better, Traffic Light,” Stark replied, some of the tension in his shoulders draining away. “My last experience with—with _this —_ back in grad school, wow, brings back memories — wasn’t… um.” He stopped talking, looking down at Luke’s hands as they undid a button close to the shining circle of light. “Why don’t I take care of that, mmm?” he asked, voice strangled, and licked his lips. His frame was tense again.

Instantly letting go, Luke simply lowered his hands to the jeans tried to pull them down. They were so heavy with water that they might as well have been glued on. “Should you be in here with that?” he asked, tugging forcefully to no avail. “Won’t it get ruined if it gets wet?”

“Nah, it’s watertight,” Stark replied, sounding much more like himself. He finished undoing the shirt and began taking it off, but Luke stopped him, keeping his hands still. “You keep condoms here?” he asked, relaxing even more as Luke peeled the shirt off from his shoulders, pushing it down his arms and caressing the skin as he went.

Luke froze, the drenched cloth bunched up around Stark’s forearms, keeping them tangled behind his back. “No, I don’t.” He sounded like defeat. He rested his forehead on Stark’s shoulder and sighed. “I keep them in the nightstand. With the lube.”

Stark hummed pensively. “I think…” he began, and stopped. He tilted his head to knock his cheek against Luke’s temple. “You’re clean, aren’t you. You lied about having a boyfriend, but you’re clean. I mean, you are such a germ freak you won’t even kiss me, right? No offense.”

Not believing his ears, Luke turned his head and nosed along Stark’s face. “I know _I_ am. But you made out with my asshole last night.” He looked at Stark’s eye from so close he could see the different colors of his iris and count his individual eyelashes. “What guarantee have _I_?”

Stark looked away, obviously done with the conversation. “Only my word, I suppose,” he shrugged. His face was stony in a way that spoke more of conscious relaxation of the muscles than anything else.

It was obvious that Luke had hurt him. He’d spoken thoughtlessly; _of course_ Stark wouldn’t lie about something like STDs. Luke had basically accused him of being either an unclean pig or a man so selfish he spread illnesses carelessly and lied about it. And, yeah, he couldn’t help but feel his heart go out to the man. Luke knew far too well what it was like to tell the truth and have no one believe you.

Yes. He would trust him. At least with this.

“Your word is good enough for me,” Luke said, pressing his closed lips into the crook of the man’s neck. Up close, he smelled like sweat and warmth skin and the remnants of expensive perfume. He couldn’t place the scent other than it smelled like wood. Pleasant. He let his tongue out to lap up fragrance, one hand cupping the full roundness of Stark’s ass through the wet jeans, and then murmured, “As long as you’re still game.”

Stark thought about it. Then he broke into a grin that was more bluster to cover up the hurt than genuine amusement. “I’m game as long as you show me a good time,” he said, but what Luke heard implied was ‘ _you’d better be worth it, asshole’._

‘ _Thank you_ ,’ he thought, and bit Stark’s earlobe, refusing to treat him like he was made of porcelain. The man gave an aborted moan, his fingers curling into the shirt in a spasm, and Luke left the ear to blow hot air on his neck, making him shiver. “Oh, you won’t forget me any time soon, I can promise you that.”

Stark chuckled warmly. “Oh, but you’re gonna have to get my pants off, first.” He shuffled on his feet, his hips swaying from side to side enticingly. “Damn thing feels like a chastity belt.”

“Mmm, I’m very good at undoing those,” Luke replied, trailing a finger along Stark’s semi. “This is easy, in comparison.” Or he hoped that it would be. Then, the thought occurred to him that he didn’t need to get them actually off. Just enough that he had comfortable access to Stark’s ass…

From there it was simply a matter of peeling the jeans down, like one would a banana. The fabric still stuck rebelliously to Stark’s skin and to itself, but between Luke’s calculated tugging and Stark’s squirming, they managed to uncover Stark’s lower half until about a quarter down his thighs.

Stark, Luke noticed, had a  _great_  ass. He hadn't had the chance to see it before or play with it, and he regretted it a lot. It was pert, round, perfectly heart-shaped, and he felt tempted to bite it. Instead, though, he cupped one cheek in each hand and fondled it. “Nice,” he murmured appreciatively, nosing along the line of Stark’s shoulder. Then, suddenly, he slapped it hard, making the flesh jiggle.

The owner of said ass grunted at that. "Hey! That was demeaning," he complained, but he sounded like he was grinning. “Like my ass, do you?” he asked, pushing back into Luke’s hands.

“Yes, I do,” Luke replied, enjoying the firmness of his glutes. He held the cheeks apart as far as they would go, biting his lip in honest appreciation, and surged forward, his cock slotting into the revealed valley like it had been missing from it. Then he pressed the cheeks together, closing them as best he could around his cock, and gave a couple of thrusts. It was a bit awkward, because of the height difference, but it still felt divine.

Breathing heavily, Stark threw his head backward, tapping Luke with it to get his attention. "Come on, you," he whined. "I didn’t tease you last night. Not much, anyway.” He arched his back, pushing his butt at Luke like an offering, trying to tempt him. “Stop playing with my ass and just fuck it."

Luke knew that two-dollar-whore routine — had, in fact, used it himself to great effect — and also knew Stark was not truly desperate yet. “You ask for gentle, but then you beg me to penetrate you before I’ve even begun prepping you,” he chided teasingly, pushing away from him nonetheless. "Patience, Tony Stark." He pinched one of the man’s nipples before reaching again for the bottle of conditioner. He'd splurged on it for its creamy texture, which was great for dyed hair, but that very same quality also made it excellent lube as well. After pouring a healthy dollop onto his hand and putting the bottle back, he dipped his fingers in the cream and coated them generously.

His thumb, soaked in it, he trailed lightly down the parting of Stark’s buttocks, catching on the tightly closed entrance. It rubbed the conditioner in, slathering the hole with it, and Stark wheezed like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Taking that as a positive sign, Luke pushed gently against the hole several times, until it opened under his thumb, letting the tip in. Stark’s insides were velvety soft and hot, so hot. He couldn’t wait to put his cock in there — except he had to. He continued the slow in-out movements, coaxing the tight ring of muscle to relax, rewarding it with a sweet tickle from the inside whenever it opened enough.

It was barely any stimulation at all, but Stark obviously loved it. He kept letting out little mewls each time Luke withdrew the fingertip and slid it in again, his head pressed into the sliding door.

When the ring of muscle stopped clenching closed at every unexpected move and his thumb slid wholly inside, Luke decided Stark was ready for more. His index finger still had its coating of conditioner intact, so he pushed it into Stark to the last knuckle. The hot rain of the shower was easily forgotten as he twirled his hand around, coating the inner walls fully while his thumb pinched the rim to his index along its circumference.

Stark let out a long high-pitched keen at that. His hands, Luke noticed with a smile, were clenching futilely into fists again, then unclenching, like the man couldn’t decide which sensation to concentrate on. “Fuck, Luke, that felt good,” he breathed, fogging up the plastic. “Made me weak in the knees,” he chuckled, unconsciously rolling his hips, riding the intruding finger.

“Good, good,” Luke replied, “then you are ready for another, aren’t you?” He pushed two fingers into him on the next thrust, spreading them as far as he could, which wasn’t much. Judging Stark to be all but begging for more stimulation, he turned his hand so his palm was facing towards Stark’s now fully erect cock and curled his fingers forward in search of his prostate. And he found it alright, especially when he dug his thumb into Stark’s perineum in a very uncomfortable by rewarding maneuver.

Stark’s knees actually buckled as he let out a rough, surprised scream. He caught himself against the plastic screen with his shoulder, his ass up in the air at the mercy of Luke’s ministrations.

Taking pity on him, Luke pushed him against the screen and held him there with his own body, hot cock brushing against a hot, wet ass cheek. From this angle, he could actually see Stark’s face, so he prodded Stark’s sweet spot again and again, mercilessly.

The face of the sex-proclaimed playboy was slack with pleasure. His mouth hung agape as he panted, tiny broken whimpers escaping him in the way out. His eyes were closed like he’d reached Nirvana, his eyebrows furrowed with ecstasy at the middle as Luke’s fingers rubbed his velvety inner walls again and again. "Ooooh, oh— _fuuuck_ ,” he whimpered, his hips moving back on the fingers, greedily fucking himself. “You're—just keep, keep doing that, Strawberry."

"Shall I give you three?" Luke asked him, voice hoarse as he looked down at the sight of his fingers disappearing into Stark’s generous bum. His fingers were so far up Stark’s ass that his palm was lifting the muscled buttocks higher.

The man nodded quickly, desperately even, at the question. "Y—yes go ahead, do it. Haa, more, more, come on," he half-moaned, half-panted, out of breath. He tightened his fists again, as if bracing himself for how low the pleasure would bring him.

Luke bit his lower lip, loving the power trip. Stark... _Tony._ He was  _so_  responsive — so _deliciously_  candid about his enjoyment. It was  _Luke’s_ pleasure to slip in a third finger. He felt he could make Tony come from just this — and not care one whit if he didn't get to actually fuck him, because the noises he was making, the way his body shivered, how his fists clenched and relaxed at every twitch of Luke's fingers... Oh, he would _remember_ this man in nights to come, that was certain.

Taking his fingers out, he coaxed a weak and protesting Tony into kneeling. Pausing only to grab the conditioner again, he squatted behind him, sitting on his haunches, and upended the bottle over the start of Tony’s ass crack. He watched the creamy white fluid — never so much like cum, it seemed to him — as it dripped along the channel created by Tony's firm cheeks. He put the bottle down by his knee, keeping it at a handy distance, and slid his fingers along the trail, gathering some of the conditioner to slick up his cock. He was so hard that even his own hand, near frictionless as the touch was, felt amazing.

“Strawberry?” Tony asked, apparently having decided on a nickname at long last. Pity it was such a stupid one. “Why did you go away?” He arched his back hopefully, catching Luke’s eye over his shoulder.

Luke enjoyed the view silently, letting Tony stew as he watched the curve of his buttocks, watched the way the now dilated entrance started to close again with Tony's anxiety. Needy slut. Just how Luke loved them. “I’m right here, _Toffee,_ ” he parried, licking his grinning lips. In a blink, he’d slipped the three fingers back inside him. He reassured Tony he wasn’t going anywhere by pressing his fingertips into his swollen nut of a prostate from within and without, in a pincer attack.

Tony wailed, his head dropping against the sliding door again. There was a flush on his skin that started in his ears and extended all the way down his back. “Again, do that again,” he panted, fucking back into Luke’s hand.

“Nope, sorry,” Luke said, patting his rump, “I got plans for that little ass of yours.” That said, he withdrew his ring finger and inserted in its stead the index and middle finger of his other hand. Holding them straight, he moved his hands in counterpoint, one withdrawing when the other thrust in, again and again. Tony’s asshole gaped at him when he pulled his fingers apart, stretching the ring of muscle, and he eyed the hollow that formed covetously.

* * *

 

Tony grunted, groaned, moaned, purred; a veritable symphony of bedroom noises barely smothered by the running shower. What had this unassuming barman turned him into? Ah, fuck, he was close already. “Damn, Lu—Luke, hnnn, you should—should stop," he managed, biting his lower lip, still squirming back onto Luke’s fingers regardless of what he was saying. Felt good.

But Luke picked just that moment to do as he’d asked, pulled his fingers out, making sure to nudge his entrance roughly in a way that made Tony’s cock twitch.

Tony couldn't help but feel frustration at the loss, at the emptiness. He arched his back, offering his ass again — like the good little cockslut he apparently was now. He was perfectly aware Lukas could see — _was_ seeing, and enjoying — _everything_ when he was in this shameful, shameful position, from how much he wanted to be there to how dirty he felt.

Hell, he had practically _begged_ a pretty stranger to bang him up the ass without a condom. That was seven kinds of wrong.

And Luke just kept saying nothing, his eyes burning Tony’s skin where they roved.

"Hey, come on," mumbled Tony, giving up, thankful he was looking away, "stop looking at me like that. Just… Luke." He was not going to say it. He was not going to beg, not when it was for real.

But it seemed the redhead wasn’t planning on lording it over Tony, for he crept closer on his knees and settled astride Tony’s calves. “I’m here,” he said soothingly.

If Tony hadn’t been so embarrassed, he would have yelled at him for being condescending. He wouldn’t have got far, though; the second Luke stopped shuffling, Tony felt fingers on his ass, pulling it open to make room for a blunt cockhead. He braced for the tearing pain, remembering his one and only experience on the bottom, but it didn’t come.

Luke’s cock, not even an inch into Tony, pulled back.

Before Tony could even snap out of his confusion and ask, there it was again, poking into him in a burning stretch — and retreating again.

Luke kept doing that, pressing the tip of his cock into Tony’s — surely! — gaping ass, again and again.

And damn it, but it felt really good. Almost as good as Luke’s fingers. He didn’t notice when he began pushing back into it, not until Luke’s cockhead popped inside and his ass _burned,_ just barely on the pleasurable side of pleasure-pain.

“Okay?” Luke asked, keeping with the same motion, except now he was fucking Tony with the entire mushroom-shaped head. Squelch, pop. In and out. Golden.

The willpower that must have taken would have astounded Tony, if he’d had any mind left to spare. All he could think about was his ass, being stretched again and again, the burn fading and being replaced with _glory._ Fuck, but Luke knew how to use his goddamn cock. "Hnn, shiiit," he hissed, trying to hold back his moans. The teasing was so… so  _delicious_ that it didn’t feel like teasing at all, more like a reward. But it gave him _ideas_ about how the entire cock would feel inside him. "Stop teasing me, Strawberry," he said, definitely not begging. And not blushing. “Just—just.” He coughed, feeling his face heat up. Must be all the hot water…

But instead of doing as he had promised and stuffing Tony’s ass full of cock, Luke pulled out entirely. He grabbed Tony under the armpits and drew him back, until he was plastered against his chest. Luke’s erection was poking him in the right cheek, suddenly feeling like a baseball bat, huge and blunt. Rubbing it against Tony, he spoke softly in his ear. "There's no shame in liking pleasure and asking for it, you know? If you like having your ass stuffed, then  _own it_ ,” he licked Tony’s ear, “like you do everything else in your life. Ask for it, and I shall give it to you."

Tony swallowed with some difficulty, his throat suddenly dry. It wasn’t so much the way he said it — hot moist air in his ear, wicked lips against his cheek — but the images the words brought him. Luke, from last night, handing out orders like candy. ‘ _Suck me_ ,’ and ’ _Rim me,_ ’ and ’ _Fuck me harder_ ’. Tony had thought them so hot… He smiled ruefully, and then, on a sudden impulse, he pushed his hips into Luke's. No shame, huh? "Okay, you win," he laughed throatily. "Your cock feels great and you use it like a pro.” He turned his head to catch Luke’s ridiculously pretty green eyes. “Now put it inside me and… Goddammit — just fuck me already."

Luke smiled gently, and it took his breath away. Tony looked away as Luke reached up to stroke his chest, fingers dancing around the metal casing of the arc reactor, heedless of the ugly scars. "How did you put it? _Your command is my wish_ ," he said, sounding like he was still smirking, and made his stance wider to find a better angle. He slid home in a long, even, languid thrust, giving Tony’s insides plenty of time to shift around to accommodate it. "Your turn to give the orders now, Tony Stark. How do you want this?"

' _My turn to give the orders, huh? What a joke,_ ' Tony thought with a grin, letting himself fall forward again. Lukas was far too dominant to let Tony take the reins for real; if he did what Tony said, it would be because he got off on it, not out of any altruistic inclination. He wished he had his hands free, if only to grab Luke’s hair and steal a kiss. "What are the options?"

Luke chuckled low, and Tony would learn what he found so funny in the next few minutes.

"Well, for starters,” Luke said conversationally, like he was reciting a restaurant’s menu, “there's slow." His tone of voice was completely at odds with the way he started pistoning his cock in and out of Tony at ridiculously slow pace, letting him feel every ridge, every bump in his cock.

Tony tried to keep control of his breathing and stay cool, but Luke's cock felt too huge and too good inside his sensitive asshole, stroking his inner walls like a treasured pet. The sinful slowness of the movements was absolutely delicious, luxurious even, and Tony would gladly have carried on enjoying it.

But Luke continued talking, as if nothing was happening, as if Tony wasn't coming undone. "Or maybe you'd prefer deep?" he asked sweetly, voice dripping seduction, and then, in the same breath, he stuffed his cock in to the root. His hipbones dug into Tony's buttocks as he moved, discovering hot spots Tony hadn’t even known he had.

Tony couldn't help but cry out loud when Luke suddenly surged forward, just when he’d thought he couldn’t get any deeper. It changed the angle, and all at once the curve of his shaft was pressing into Tony’s prostate, rubbing it as Luke moved his hips in small circling motions, never actually withdrawing more than half an inch. "Haa— _damn_. That's just, ah, no words, hah," he gasped brokenly, feeling the redhead’s labored breathing on his neck. He pushed his ass back against those hipbones, trying to get Luke as deep as possible, moaning and groaning helplessly.

And then Luke grabbed Tony by the hips. "Then, there's—" he leant back, spreading his legs, Tony practically sitting on his lap, “— _fast_." He broke out into an absolutely _punishing_ pace — but for a brief time, managing seven or eight thrusts in about four seconds. He aimed for Tony's prostate every time, the _devil_.

Tony's quiet moans turned into short yells that punctuated every thrust, and he _stopped thinking_. "Oh, fuck, hell yes! Oh, my God!"  _'More_ ,' he thought, his ass cheeks feeling pleasantly warm from the soft slaps of Luke’s hips,  _'I want more of this, just like that, don’t stop!'_

Without leaving Tony time to gather his bearings, Luke shifted again to gain more leverage. "And hard!" he choked out, his grip on Tony’s hips turning brutal as he pulled the man down onto his cock. He started practically _hammering_ on Tony's prostate, pulling him back with every thrust in and pushing him away in every thrust out.

Tony had already been panting and out of breath, and he could only fight for every breath. Each time he drew a bit of air, Luke’s thrusts simply _pushed_ it out of him. It was almost painful, and the soft slaps of Luke’s hips had turned into hard spanking, but in his oversensitive state, even _that_ he found delightful.

And just when he decided he loved _that,_ too, Luke stopped again.

Tony would have complained, but he had neither the voice nor the presence of mind for it.

"So I ask again," said Luke, keeping cruelly still, one hand grabbing Tony’s throat comfortably, "how do you want this?"

Tony felt a bit like crying. So many options, all of them so good. How could he choose, when he wanted them all? "You... fucking stud..." he panted, "dammit... you’re going to—going to break me." He shook his head, trying to clear it a bit. He couldn't decide. "Surprise me, Babe."

* * *

Surprise him, eh?  How hadn’t he foreseen this? "So you liked everything, then, you complete whore?" Lukas laughed affectionately, no head in his words. In his own strange way, he'd come to care for this man, if only slightly. His complete and honest openness was charming, and it helped a lot that he’d knowingly chosen to become putty in Luke's hands.

Well then, Tony had spoken.

Luke started by picking a gentler pace, letting the man catch his breath and recover his wits. When he sensed that Tony was back with him, he grinned wickedly and shifted to full-steam, for about five, ten thrusts. Then, buried deep inside him, he rolled his hips in circles again, two, three, four slow circles — and then another onslaught of fast thrusts. He carried on like that, shifting gears every five, ten thrusts, running the gamut from slow and shallow to deep and low to fast and deep to fast and hard, switching on a whim, combining paces as it stroked his fancy.

Tony’s face was a rictus of ecstasy as he arched and cried out his pleasure. On the stretches where Luke went fast, he kept wailing out one unbroken moan. "Oh, fffuck YES! Dammit, yes—fuck me, Lukas!" he arched, pushing his ass back into Luke so he could feel him even deeper and faster. "More, more! Just don't stop—oh, god, don't stop, don't stop," he sobbed, his voice barely recognizable.

Luke reached around Tony to give a bit of stimulation to his so-far neglected cock in the form of circles on his cockhead with his thumb. He knew perfectly well that he could bring Tony off without touching him there, but he wanted to make the man see stars, so he wouldn’t regret letting his ass be fucked. He put one hand against the glass, next to Tony's head, and switched to a final pace, hard and fast and shallow, aiming straight for Tony's sweet spot. "Are you close?" he asked, desperate to come too.

"Yes, I'm close—of course I'm close, ahn—fffuck, _right there!_ " Tony moaned, pushing back until his head was resting on Luke’s shoulder. The hand manhandling his cock proved to be his undoing. With one long, continuous moan, he ground back into Luke’s dick while his own pumped out ropes of hot spunk into the tiles.

Luke, for his part, felt the ring of muscle spasming around the base of his cock, slowing down his trusts. But he was  _almost there_ , and his hips had a mind of their own at that point. They drove his aching cock into the constriction one, two times, and then he was painting Tony's insides with jets of cum, with his mouth on Tony’s neck. Then his arms were giving out, and he found himself slumped against Tony's back, catching his breath loudly with huge heaves of his chest.

Tony himself was no better. He was taking huge, noisy gulps of air, even crushed as he was against the plastic pane. There was no tension left in him, none at all; his hands hung limp over his ass, still tied with the shirt. Every now and then he shivered, his body warm against Luke’s chest and lap.

Luke wanted to stay inside him forever — wanted to thank him again for letting him at his ass, for deciding that his pleasure was more important than his pride — but now that his cock had softened and become too sensitive, the contact was impossible for him to withstand. He pulled out and gave a small kiss to Tony's shoulder. “Fuck condoms,” he muttered, kissing it again.

Still weak as a newborn colt, Tony laughed feebly and coughed a bit. "Condoms are awesome," he was quick to say, still catching his breath. He leaned back onto Luke, turning his face towards him. “But you’re right,” he grinned, “fuck ‘em.” He stretched a little further and kissed Luke’s neck, murmuring against it, "Damn, but know how to use your cock, Strawberry."

Smiling down at the sight of Tony Stark, Iron Man, so relaxed, unguarded and candid, Luke felt the urge to do something stupid. He cupped Tony’s face and caught his mouth in a kiss. No tongue, as he still found that disgusting — humans were seriously filthy, he’d never get used to the way they tried to lick into his mouth — but he decided to make it open-mouthed.

When he pulled away, Tony had melted all over again. “What happened to _no kissing_?” he asked, a goofy grin stretching his lips. He opened his eyes to peer up at Luke, and there was an amused light in them. “I told you, Luke, I’m irresistible.” He started to close his eyes again, apparently having completely forgotten that he was still trussed up as a pig and at Luke’s dubious mercy, and then he startled, sitting up. “What time is it?” There was urgency in his voice. “Pepper’s going to _kill_ me. I need to go.”

Oh, right, the meeting. Interesting, that it hadn’t been just an excuse. "Let's get you out of your wet clothes first, yes?” he said, stroking Stark’s abs idly. “I can lend you some for you to travel in, if you tell her to bring you a suit."

The man nodded. “Great idea.” He straightened so Luke would have access to the sodden shirt around his wrists and winced. “Aw, fuck, Ginger Snap, you broke my body,” he whined, wiggling in Luke’s lap, ostensibly to loosen up his muscles.

That startled a chuckle out of Luke. He paused in tugging on the shirt. “You did that to yourself, you moron. Who told you to thrust back?” Thankfully, Stark hadn’t bothered doing up the cuff buttons, and the wet fabric released its owner’s hands. “Using muscles you’ve never used before, bad idea.” He dropped the shirt on the floor and helped Stark to his feet.

Stark stood unsteadily, holding onto the screen for balance. “Mmm, feel dizzy,” he announced, and then glared at the showerhead. “And the water is annoying.” Cum and conditioner were trailing down his legs, dropping onto the jeans.

Luke smiled mischievously and gathered a handful of water. He splashed it onto Stark’s ass, rinsing the mess, and repeated until the man was mostly clean. The conditioner washed away easily, and his hair was already rinsed from all the water that had fallen on it, so when he was done he simply turned the water off.

They wrestled Stark’s jeans off his legs in a combined effort, Stark helpfully holding onto Luke and tugging his legs up while Luke held the fabric down, and dropped them to join the shirt in a sopping-wet pile in the shower stall.

Luke then stepped out, careful of not slipping on the wet floor, and got his towel around himself. “I don’t keep the towels here,” he told Stark, surreptitiously grabbing his contact lenses from the sink. “Wait here and I’ll get you one.”

“Sure thing,” Stark said from inside the stall, looking forlorn, like he’d been stuck there against his will. Or maybe it was the way he was pressing the palm of one hand to the plastic, like secretly begging Luke to get him out and take him with him.

Smirking, Luke went back into his bedroom. First thing he did was pop the lenses on. Only when he was blue-eyed again did he finish drying his body and put the towel around his neck to catch the water dripping from his hair. He rummaged through his closet for a clean towel and clothes that might fit Stark. There wasn’t much—

“So, you really _do_ have a boyfriend. I’d thought you were lying.”

Luke startled and bumped his head on a shelf, then turned around to glare daggers at Stark. "I thought I told you to stay in the bathroom, Stark?" he growled. Then he _looked_ at him and noticed what he was holding.

The man was dripping water _everywhere,_ but the most offensive thing about him was the way he was _holding a picture frame_. Luke knew which picture that was — Jimmy, half a head taller and twice Luke’s width, hugging him to his chest like he was a kitten, grinning at the camera while Luke smirked mischievously — and he remembered that he’d put that frame face down on the nightstand when he’d broken up with him. But Stark had picked it up like he was at his own house.

And then, while Luke stood there, stunned by Stark’s absolute disregard of his privacy, his guest put the frame down and grabbed instead an old leather-bound book. He cracked it open carelessly and flipped the pages roughly, his face growing skeptical. "A book of ritual magic?” he asked, the same way he might ask if Luke had a collection of used condoms. “You into this kind of thing, Strawberry? You creepy.”

That was the last straw.

Furious, Luke threw the clothes he was holding — a pair of jeans and a t-shirt Jimmy had left behind when Luke kicked him out — at Stark’s head.  "Get dressed,” he said curtly, putting all his venom into his words. He sternly reminded himself that it was illegal on Earth to duel Stark for his honor, and that punching him would only bring him trouble, or worse, _recognition_. “And if you must know," he added, still in the same tone, "Jimmy and I are taking a break."

"Jimmy? Seriously?" Stark asked, putting down the book and stepping away from the nightstand. He grabbed the clothes and sneered at them, but made no comment. Good, it seemed he had _some_ sense of self-preservation left. "Maybe  _Rambo_  or  _Rocky_ ,” he said as he put the jeans on, grabbing them only with the tips of his fingers as it fearing he could get a disease from them, “but  _Jimmy?_ " He shook his head and looked at himself in the mirror. He promptly wrinkled his nose. "Pants hanging onto my ass by luck alone and an oversized shirt?” He winked at Luke. “All I need is two baseball hats and some bling, and I can say ‘#YOLO’ unironically.”

Luke sneered at him as he drew his pants on. "If you don't like your attire, you can travel naked,” he deadpanned, as if joking but not really.

Stark’s cheer dimmed, as if finally noticing he was overstaying his welcome. “Say, can I ask you…” He licked his lips, probably reconsidering the wisdom of his question, and then finished, “Why do you hide your eyes? They’re very striking."

"Exactly,” Luke replied, pulling on a long-sleeved t-shirt. "People remember them easily. With the life I lead, that wouldn’t work out." In fact, he hoped Stark would forget him easily, too. Better not give him any reason to remember him — well, any _more_ reason. He fancied Stark would remember him for at least three days, until everything in the lower half of his body stopped hurting.

Stark’s eyebrows rose. “The life you lead?” he parroted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. The short sleeves were so long on him that they reached past his elbow — he looked _ridiculous._ “What are you, some kind of criminal? Bank robber? Hired hit-man?” He laughed at his own joke, then paused and looked at him with new eyes. “Actually… You kinda have the body type for that.”

“Of course not.” Close, but no cigar. Luke smiled mysteriously. “Would you _look_ at the _time_ ,” he said in sing-song. That was, he had learned, the human code phrase for ‘ _let’s not share air a moment longer.’_ He turned towards the kitchenette. “Let me get you a bag for your clothes.”

"Forget that," Stark replied, waving a hand dismissively. “I can buy a hundred of the same and not make a dent in my pocket money. Besides,” he grinned knowingly at Luke, “you need something to remember me by.” He winked outrageously.

Luke scoffed. That man had a ridiculously inflated sense of self-importance. He felt the urge to take him down at notch. “I’ll sell them on Ebay,” he replied, smirking. “Maybe I can get five dollars if I say they are yours.”

Stark grabbed his chest as if he’d been stabbed. “Ouch, Strawberry, you are on _fire_ today.” He looked like he was about to add something but then thought better of it. “Say. You gonna drive me home in your super awesome customized bike?"

' _Tenacious bastard,_ ' Luke thought, snorting. "You have your own car, remember?” The keys must still be in Stark’s coat pocket. Or his own. He couldn’t remember where he’d left them. Anyway. “Drive yourself.”

"Oh, Darling, you are just so mean,” Stark whined, obviously for show. Was he trying to make up for the snooping by making a clown of himself? “Share your baby with me, don’t be selfish. I shared mine!"

The red-head pressed his lips in a line and shook his head minutely, not dignifying that with an answer. "Want breakfast before you leave?" he asked, changing the subject. He wanted Stark the hell out of there, but there were rules to hospitality.

Stark’s eyes widened, and suddenly the overconfident man turned into a scared rabbit. "Breakfast?" He parroted, eyes flitting around in panic. He murmured something about morning sex and one-night stands, but Luke couldn’t quite catch the other words, and then looked at Luke. “Breakfast is dangerous,” he said cryptically, shaking his head. “Thanks but no thanks. I really gotta go. Where’s my shoes and coat?”

Luke blinked. These humans  _really_  changed their tune fast. Hadn’t Stark been very keen on coffee back in the shower? "Oookay," he said dubiously, eyebrows raised, “well then. In the living room."

He accompanied Stark there and helped him locate the shoes as the man got his coat on. When he was completely dressed, the only part of his attire visible was the legs of the pants below the knees. He didn’t look _terrible_.

The elevator ride was silent. Stark kept his hands in his pockets and his face turned away, so Luke couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

At the exit of the apartment building, Stark stopped suddenly, almost making Luke run into him. He opened his mouth, shook his head, closed it, and looked away. His cheeks flushed a pretty pink, but that may have been from the cold. “I’ll go now,” he said at last, not meeting Luke’s eyes. “Have a nice day.” He gave Luke a two-finger salute and a wink.

Luke waved goodbye at him. "Take care," he said, and waited until he saw Stark’s car drive away to turn around and go back inside.

The pleasant fake smile that had been on his face fell off.

Stark may not know who he was, but he knew where he lived and where he worked.

Time to change that.

When he got back home, Lukas Frode unplugged the appliances, poured the coffee into the sink, and cleared out his fridge as well he could on such short notice. He went to his room to pack the essentials, talking all the while into the mobile glued to his ear. When he was done, he wiped the mobile's memory and stepped on it.

He went to the bathroom, where he took out his blue contacts and exchanged them for brown ones, tossing the old ones into the toilet. With a pair of scissors, he chopped off his copper hair until about two inches from his head, which he then dyed an ordinary brown. He also cut his driver license and credit card into bits with a nail clipper over it, and flushed them, contacts and hair and everything, down the drain.

He opened the safe where he kept the fake IDs and associated credit cards, and chose a new identity.

* * *

Marcus Lloyd grabbed the spell book —  the same one that Stark had so dismissively laughed at earlier — and a piece of chalk. Slowly and methodically, he drew the sigil detailed on page 114 on every door, window, and mirror, including the closet door.

After gathering his backpack, Mark gave one last, longing look at the apartment that had been Luke's home for over a year, before stepping out into the hallway. He tossed the apparent keys back inside, a bitter taste on his mouth, and closed the door behind him. He drew one last sigil, this time on the front door, and then bit his finger until it bled and touched the marking with it, staining it red.

When done, he stored the book in the bag, went outside, flagged a cab and got in. He told the drivers to get him to the airport as fast as possible.

By the time he got there, the apartment had gone up in oddly red flames. He knew his neighbors would call the fire department, but they didn’t need to. The magical fire would only burn the traces of Lukas Frode, hair and fingerprints and flakes of skin on his pillow, nothing else.

Markus Lloyd needed to disappear without a trace, in case Iron Man remembered he had last met him when his name was still Loki.


End file.
